


A Breath that’s True

by endearinglysad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endearinglysad/pseuds/endearinglysad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jessica Moore meets Sam Winchester, a man with many secrets, and she's determinded to figure him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Breath that’s True

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://my-sam-dean.livejournal.com/profile)[**my_sam_dean**](http://my-sam-dean.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/profile)[ **spn_j2_xmas**](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/). Prompts were first time, romance, and slow sex (among others)--I tried to work them in! Title from “Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star. 

_Brady’s text was short and simple:_ You. Me. Rudy’s at 9. _Finals were over, and she was heading home in two days._

 _Jess didn’t even think about saying no._

  


***

  


“Are you sure about this? I mean, what do you even know about this guy?”

Jess eyed herself critically in the mirror. Sam had said to dress casual, but there was no way she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt on a first date, so now she was stuck in that tricky wardrobe-area where she had to try without looking like she was trying and Andrea wasn’t helping. She decided against the red halter top.

“Stop worrying,” she said, voice muffled by fabric. “He was perfectly nice when I met him a few weeks ago. Besides, he’s a friend of Brady’s.”

Andrea caught the top Jess tossed to the bed and pointed to another. “Brady’s an asshole. Try the peach one.”

Jess pulled the shirt on. “Yeah, but Brady’s not going to let me go out with an asshole. And by the way, where was your concern last week when that frat bastard tried to feel me up in the union?” She turned back to the mirror. Perfect—simple, but sexy.

“Well, I’m trying to take my roommate duties seriously from now on. You have your phone, right?”

Jess zipped up a pair of skinny corduroys just as there was a knock at the front door. She smiled at Andrea. “Look. I’ll let you know where I’ll be as soon as I find out, and if something goes wrong I’ll text you and you can swoop in to the rescue. In the meantime, _don’t worry_.”

She hurried out into the living room, Andrea trailing behind, and pulled open the door. There was Sam Winchester, head ducked, hands tucked into pockets, and that shy, dimpled smile pointed straight at her. She wondered if she’d ever stood a chance.

“Hi,” he said. “You ready?”

Jess couldn’t stop an answering smile. “Yeah, let me just grab my jacket. Come on in—you might as well meet my roommate now so you’re not confused when you’re being stalked by a tiny Italian woman later.”

“Hey!” Andrea protested, flopping down on the couch. “Just because I don’t want you raped and murdered by some psycho doesn’t mean I’m a creepy stalker.” She looked at Sam. “You’re not are you?”

“A creepy staker?”

“Or a psycho.” 

Sam looked nervous, like he wasn’t exactly sure what answer she was looking for. It was pretty adorable, and Jess decided to take pity on him. “Sam, this is Andrea, Andrea, Sam. He’s not a psycho.”

“Better not be,” Andrea huffed. She eyed Sam like she was a prizefighter trying to stare down her opponent, which was funny since she was a good foot-and-a-half shorter than him. 

Sam just smiled at her though, and said. “I promise I won’t do anything that you’ll have to kick my ass for later.”

Andrea studied him for a moment, trying to decide if he was patronizing her, but Jess could see her lips twitching. “Don’t think I won’t,” she said, finally returning his smile.

Jess took that as her cue and took Sam by the arm to steer him out the door. She left Andrea with her chemistry textbook and a teasing “don’t wait up!” and then they were on their way.

“So, where are we going?” she asked.

Sam looked suddenly shy again. “Well, a friend of mine has hours at the observatory tonight for one of his classes, but he said he could get us in to the big telescope if we—if that sounds like something you want to do.” He continued in a rush, like he was afraid she was going to say no and ditch him right here in the hallway. “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to get time tonight and I was just going to take you to dinner and a movie or something if it didn’t work out. We still could though, dinner and a movie, I mean, if you don’t want to go to the observatory.” He finally trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

Jess realized she had a huge grin on her face, completely charmed by his nervousness. Sam must have noticed because he ducked his head again, and she figured it was a common gesture with him.

“Stargazing, huh?” she murmured, grin fading to something much softer. “That sounds fun, actually.”

“Yeah?” he asked, hopeful gaze on her again.

“Yeah. We can do the dinner-and-a-movie thing next time.”

“Next time?” He was smiling now.

She laughed, and headed down the hall again, turning when she got to the front door and realized he hadn’t followed her.

“Sam! You coming or what?”

  


***

  


 _“I thought we were gonna get drunk tonight.” Jess slammed her freshly empty shot glass down on the bar._

 _Brady laughed. “It’s only—“ he looked at his watch, realized he wasn’t wearing one and started digging clumsily through his pockets for his phone instead. “Eleven-thirty!” he crowed finally. “Plenty of time to make some bad decisions.”_

 _Jess swiped the nearly empty bottle from the bar in front of him, downed the rest, and clunked it down too. “Well, let’s not make them here.”_

 _“I know a place. It’s sketchy though. Not our usual crowd.”_

 _“Perfect.”_

  


***

  


The restaurant was nice—probably too nice for a third date, but it was Valentine’s Day, so it seemed appropriate. Besides, she was starting to feel like this thing with Sam was going to turn into something big, so she didn’t mind the intimacy of a tiny table for two in a nice restaurant.

Sam held out her chair and she smiled to herself. Of _course_ he’d be a gentleman. He seated himself and they were silent for a few minutes and they each read over the menu. After the waiter took their orders, they fell into easy conversation about the week.

“—and then he spent the next seventeen minutes talking to his PowerPoint presentation and arguing with himself about the exact wording of Emily Dickenson’s epitaph. I swear, I hate distribution requirements!”

Jess laughed and Sam looked pleased, happy just to have made her smile. Her stomach fluttered a bit; she was seriously fucked over this guy.

His phone rang, and he fumbled to silence it before it disturbed the other diners, and she had to laugh again at the panicked look on his face. He was laughing too, shaking his head in self-deprecation, when he glanced at the screen on his phone and immediately sobered.

“I’m sorry, Jess,” he said in a rush, dropping his napkin on the table and standing up. “I need to return this call. Would you excuse me for a minute?”

“Of course,” Jess answered, but Sam was already walking away.

A few minutes passed and the waiter returned to deliver their salads but there was still no sign of Sam. She waited for him to come back, but when a few more minutes had passed, she speared a tomato off her salad to nibble on until he came back. Before she knew it her plate was almost empty, and she gave in and finished her salad.

When thirty minutes had passed, the waiter returned again with entrees, but then offered to keep them warm in the kitchen until her date returned. She was good and angry by this point, but she couldn’t see Sam from where she was sitting, didn’t know where he was, and she didn’t want to abandon their table to go looking for him, so she sat and fumed instead. The waiter returned three more times, and finally she told him to just go ahead and bring the plates, and tried to ignore the pitying look on his face.

Forty-eight minutes after disappearing, Sam rematerialized at the table. But instead of apologizing for his extended absence, Sam simply handed her her coat. “I’m sorry,” he said. His face was blank, inscrutable. “I have to go. That was my brother. Family emergency.” They drove home in silence, and Sam dropped her off at her door with a rushed goodbye and another insincere apology.

Jess stood in front of her building and watched Sam’s taillights disappear around a corner, angry, but curious about Sam’s brother and the family he never talked about.

  


***

  


 _The bar was almost as dark inside as it was out, but the jukebox was on low, there were pool tables in the back, and a tall, circular bar stood in the center. No dance floor, and not a drunk coed in sight. The place wasn’t empty, but it didn’t feel full either, and Jess stuck close to Brady as they grabbed a table in the back._

 _“Ready for something new?” he asked._

  


***

  


“Thank you again so much for doing this,” Sam said, dropping another box next to her on the carpet.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled at him. “It’s no problem, Sam. I told you I don’t mind.”

He ducked his head, did that shy smile-thing again, and Jess was beginning to suspect he knew exactly what it did to her. “It’s just, we haven’t been dating very long, and I don’t want to take advantage or anything.” He crouched down next to her and the box he’d just dropped.

“Sam, you asked for help moving, not a blow job. I’m pretty sure that’s not asking too much.”

He laughed, surprised. “So, wait—does this mean I could have asked for a blow job?” He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

She leaned forward on her knees like she was going to kiss him, then licked his nose instead. “Too late now. Guess you’ll never know.”

Sam laughed again, longer this time, and she reached around to swat him playfully on the ass. “Now go get some more boxes so we can get done unpacking and go eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, throwing in a wink and a salute before jumping up to head back out the door.

She crawled over to the box he’d brought in and pulled it open, still smiling. It was full of books, so she stood up and carried it over to the built-in shelves in the corner of the room next to the windows to start unloading them. Sam could sort them later; right now she just wanted to get them on the shelf.

Sam brought in another two boxes and carried them straight into the kitchen, then smiled at her as he passed back through to get another load. There shouldn’t be too many boxes left now.

A small end table sat next to the shelves with a medium-sized box under it. Assuming it was more books, Jess dragged it out and popped the flaps open.

Not books. Knives.

Some were wrapped in cloths, and most of the unwrapped blades were safely sheathed, but one wicked looking curved blade sat bare on top of the rest. It was heavy in her hands and obviously well-used—the blade was sharpened and oiled and the hilt smooth from handling. Definitely not a show piece.

“Huh,” she said. She stared out the window. She couldn’t see Sam from her place on the floor, but she was pretty sure he didn’t look like a serial killer anyway. She started running through reasons for quiet, shy Sam to have a box full of deadly weapons in his living room, but when she got to “knife fetish” she forced herself to stop. If it was important, he’d tell her. They were probably just family heirlooms or something. She tucked the curved knife back in the box, secured the flaps, and pushed it back under the table.

Now that she was standing she could see down into the parking lot and Sam wasn’t by the car. He was probably on his way up.

She hurried across the room, unable—or unwilling—to think why she suddenly felt guilty, like she’d snooped somewhere she shouldn’t have. She knew she’d discovered another piece of the Sam Winchester puzzle, but for the first time, a tiny whisper in the back of her mind suggested that she might not like the full picture. She forced the thought out of her mind and opened another box.

This one was mostly papers, stuff that Sam would have to go through and sort, but near the top was a faded old picture. Two boys sat on the hood of a black car, smiling and waving at the camera. The smaller of the two was Sam, if the dimples and shaggy hair were anything to go by. His smile was shy and familiar, and it made her unaccountably happy to know that was something he’d apparently always done, to know even that much about him. The other boy, though…

She flipped the picture over. ‘Sam and Dean, 1989’ was written in a messy, masculine scrawl. Dean. Sam’s brother.

“What did you find?” Sam asked, setting the last box in front of the couch. She jumped, startled. She wasn’t sure how he always managed to sneak up on her, but one day she was going to catch him at it.

She held the picture out to him. “Is that you?” she asked, hoping he’d volunteer some information.

Sam took it, smile fading as he studied the picture. “Yeah,” he answered, and handed it back. “That was a long time ago.”

She waited, but no other information seemed to be forthcoming, so she decided to press a little. “Who’s the other boy?”

Sam was silent for a moment and she was afraid he wasn’t going to answer. “That’s my brother. Dean.”

She waited. Nothing. “You don’t talk about him much,” she said. “Where is he now?”

Sam busied himself unpacking a box. “I don’t—we don’t talk much anymore. I haven’t heard from him since—” he looked at her guiltily, and she remembered exactly when he’d last heard from his brother. Valentine’s Day. “It’s been a while,” he finished lamely. “Hey! You hungry? Let’s go get something to eat. I can finish this later.”

She let him change the subject, figured she’d pressed enough for one day. “Yeah, sure. Let’s get something and bring it back and we can probably finish tonight.”

He smiled at her, less forced this time, and grabbed her jacket off the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He passed it to her, then grabbed his keys and wallet off the desk and met her at the door. Something crunched under her foot and she looked down.

“Looks like we spilled some salt or something. How did that happen?” she asked with a laugh. Weird.

Sam just ushered her out the door. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix it when we get back.”

  


***

  


 _Only one of the pool tables was occupied, and Jess watched idly while she waited for Brady to come back with drinks. Two men circled the table and each other, and the crumpled pile of bills on one corner told her they weren’t just playing for fun._

 _The taller of the two leaned over the table to take a shot, and the light hit his face for the first time. He was younger than she expected, but just as stoic as the bearded man he seemed to be beating. Balls clacked, two solids falling neatly into a corner pocket, and his lips quirked in a tiny smile. He looked up, scanning the table and the room with one long sweep until his eyes met hers, measuring and assessing, like he was trying to determine if she was predator or prey. For a moment, she wasn’t sure herself._

 _Jess forced herself to look away._

  


***

  


“Look, Sam, I know you didn’t want to come to this thing tonight, but you could have at least called me if you weren’t going to make it.”

Jess was pissed and trying really hard not to show it. Her mom knew her well enough to tell that something was wrong, though, and her mom’s concern about Sam’s absence and Jess’s agitation was killing the anniversary party atmosphere. So Jess had excused herself from the table and slipped outside the restaurant to try once again to reach Sam.

She’d started off worried. Monday, her message had been a concerned call me when she’d gotten a text from Sam an hour after they’d planned to meet for lunch that simply said family emergency, be back tomorrow. But when Tuesday and Wednesday had come and gone with no word nor sign of Sam, mild concern had turned into worry, and by Friday, outright fear. What if something was really wrong? What if something had happened? It wasn’t like Sam to just disappear without a word.

Or was it? They’d been dating for a few weeks now, and there was still so much she didn’t know about Sam, so many pieces missing—so many pieces deliberately withheld, she was starting to realize.

Her voice rose as anger surged. “I _told_ you you didn’t have to come, Sam, but you promised you’d be here, and it’s pretty shitty of you just not show up and not even have the decency to call me. So you know what? If you don’t call me tonight and tell me what’s going on with you, then don’t bother calling me ever again.” She hung up.

She clutched her phone in her fist and pressed her fist to her forehead. She didn’t feel better, and she’d never been one for hysterical ultimatums before. Worry surged up again, overtaking the anger, and she wanted to cry. She didn’t know where Sam was or what was going on or what to do.

She dialed his number again.

“Sam,” she started, then paused, unsure of what to say. “I need to know if you’re okay. _Please_ call me or something and just let me know you’re still alive and not dead in a ditch somewhere. I—I need to know you’re okay,” she ended on a whisper. There wasn’t anything else she could say, and after a moment, she ended the call again.

She took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand across her face. Either he’d call or he wouldn’t. And if he didn’t call tonight, she knew she’d wait for his call tomorrow too, and every day until he came back. She didn’t know what else to do.

But she did know one thing. She was done with this man-of-mystery bullshit. And when Sam Winchester finally showed up again, he’d be answering some questions.

  


***

  


 _“Bottoms up.” Brady set two beers and two shots down on the table._

 _Jess jumped; she hadn’t even noticed him coming._

 _Brady noticed the direction of her gaze. “You want to play or something?” He glanced back at the tables. “Oh, hey. Sam’s here.”_

 _He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, excitement glittering in his eyes. “Come on—I need to introduce you.”_

  


***

  


The lights were off and the apartment was dark, but Jess was still awake. It had started raining some time before they’d left the restaurant, and her parents had tucked her in her car with instructions to call when she got home so that they would know she was safe, and to let them know when she heard anything from Sam.

Midnight had come and gone. Sam hadn’t called.

The winter rain was a steady patter against the windows. She was glad for it, letting the noise calm her down and hollow her out until she wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there thinking about nothing and she realized that the heavier tapping she was hearing was someone knocking at the door.

The clock said 2:47. Sam was on her doorstep.

He was soaking wet, muddy and tattered with dark circles under his eyes and skin the color of oatmeal. His hair was plastered to his head, and his bangs were dripping in his eyes and down his cheeks, but he didn’t even try to brush the water away. He wouldn’t look at her, but his face was sad and worn down.

“I just wanted to let you know…I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere.” He tried a tiny smile, she thought, but couldn’t quite manage it—it looked more like a flash of pain on his otherwise lax face. When she didn’t say anything, he turned to leave.

“Sam!” she reached out, grabbing his arm to pull him back or at least just stop him from leaving, but he hissed in pain—real pain this time—and flinched away. She noticed suddenly how close he was holding his arms to his body, like he was trying to hold himself together.

She stepped outside, terrified, barely noticing the freezing rain soaking into her hair and thin pajamas, trying for a closer look. It was dark, but she could see enough to tell that some of the dark smudges around the rips in Sam’s clothes were not mud. She looked up in alarm, but Sam was just staring down at the ground, blank and absent.

Jess felt calm all of the sudden, sense suddenly kicking in and telling her what to do. She reached for Sam again, his other arm this time, and more gently than before. He didn’t flinch this time, didn’t seem to notice her at all, but didn’t fight when she steered him inside the apartment. They moved slowly through the living room as she led him to the small bathroom in the hall, unmindful of the water and mud marking their path behind them. One thing at a time—she’d deal with cleanup later.

She pushed Sam through the door ahead of her, waiting until she had him steadied on the counter to reach for the light.

His voice stopped her. “This isn’t supposed to happen anymore.”

She had no idea what he meant, and didn’t have a clue how to respond, so she reached for the light switch again. He flinched again at the brightness though, so she flipped it back off and went to turn on the hall light instead. In the semi-darkness, she began pulling his clothes off, mindful of the places they’d stuck to skin. Sam tried to help, but the movement was clearly hurting him. She calmed him, taking his hands in hers and putting his arms down at his sides, holding him still that way until he stopped trying to move. Then she began again.

She talked to him while she undressed him, telling him mindless minutia from the past week and avoiding questions and accusations—there’d be time for those later. His shirt came off in pieces, shredded and ruined. The skin underneath was clammy and cold, but she was relieved to less injuries than she was expecting—a handful of long, shallow scratches and some deep bruising along the ribs on his left side. His jeans were harder to get off, the wet denim not wanting to budge, but she tugged until they came off, underwear too, and she dropped the whole bundle in a soggy puddle in the hallway.

When she turned back around, Sam was still leaning heavily against the counter, but he was watching her now, that same assessing gaze he’d studied her with the very first time he’d laid eyes on her.

She tried for levity, anything to break the tension. “This isn’t how I imagined seeing you naked for the first time.”

Sam rewarded her with a smile—genuine, but a ghost of his usual dimpled grin. A weight suddenly left her to see it, and she choked on a relieved laugh. She turned quickly to start the shower, needing a moment to collect herself but unwilling to leave him alone. She motioned Sam past her into the warm spray and drew the curtain behind him, then took his place leaning against the counter and just breathed for a few minutes.

Sam stayed in the shower for a long time, answering the sporadic questions she asked to make sure he was still conscious and aware. When she felt confident that he wasn’t going to pass out or slip and die, she headed to the kitchen to make him something warm to drink. The shower stopped just as the kettle began to whistle.

She busied herself making tea and then hurried back to the bathroom, unsurprised to find Sam leaning against the counter again and glad to see that most of his color had returned. He was wrapped in a towel, holding it closed on his right, non-injured side.

“Can I use your dryer?”

Jess stared at him blankly. That was nothing like anything she was expecting him to say. “Why?”

“If I dry those, they’ll be good enough to get me home,” he answered, pointing to the sodden heap of clothes.

She tamped down the anger that threatened to rise at that, that he planned on just leaving without any more of an explanation than he’d arrived with.

“Sure,” she said, trying not to snap. “If you can pick them up, I’ll dry them for you.” She watched him, eyebrows raised, waiting.

Sam looked vaguely mutinous for a minute, then sagged a little in defeat. “I need to go, Jess.”

She huffed a breath and shook her head. “You need to sleep. I’ll dry your clothes, and in the morning I’ll take you home.”

She watched his face, showing the internal battle he was too exhausted to hide. Finally, he nodded, face softening into a grateful half-smile.

She handed him the tea, watched him struggle to take it with his left hand, then set it on the counter instead and reached for his towel, tucking the ends against his waist so that it would stay on without him holding it. He laughed a little at that, but winced when it hurt. She left him with his tea to take his clothes to the small dryer in her kitchen.

When she got back, he was doing his best to examine his bruised ribs without moving his arm or torso. She reached past him into the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of peroxide, gently and methodically cleaning each of the scratches. She wanted to ask how he’d gotten them, what had happened to give him marks that made him look like the survivor of an animal attack, but she bit her tongue. She could wait, for now, because Sam wasn’t getting out of here without answering a few—more than a few—questions.

She returned the peroxide to the medicine cabinet, trading that bottle for a bottle of ibuprofen, then she turned to his ribs again while he washed down three pills with a quick swallow of tea.

“Do you think they’re broken?” she asked.

“Nah,” he answered quietly. “They’re not even bruised that bad. I’ve had worse.” He set his cup back on the counter and started slowly out into the hall.  "More tired than anything." 

Yet another question to add to the list.

She followed him. He was headed for the living room. “Where are you going?”

“I thought you wanted me to sleep.”

She sighed. “Bedroom, Sam.”

He didn’t stop. “I’ll take the couch. It’s fine.”

“That couch is only four feet long!”

“It’s fine,” he said again.

She moved to get in front of him, stopping his forward progress. She wanted to yell at him for being stubborn about this, of all things, but she couldn’t ignore the uncertainty in his eyes now that she could see it. She took him by the arm and slowly turned him around, leading him back to the bedroom.

Sam didn’t fight her.

Slowly, they maneuvered down the hall and into the dark bedroom. Light from the hall spilled into the room, but the far side of the bed was in shadow. She led him to the closer side, quickly pulled back the comforter and arranged the pillows, but stopped him from sinking down onto the mattress. Carefully, she pulled the towel from around his waist, letting it drop to the floor at his feet. From his waist, she trailed her hands up his sides and over his chest, feather-light brushes of fingertips against now-warm skin, until she was holding her cheeks in his hands. She pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth, relieved when he kissed her back, and then helped him lie down and tucked the blanket around him.

“Be right back,” she whispered, and headed back to the kitchen for ice. She filled a bag and wrapped it in a dish towel, then headed back to the bedroom, turning off the few lights she’d turned on behind her, except for the bathroom light. She left it on in case Sam needed to get up in the night.

She handed the ice pack to Sam, crouching to help him settle it against his side.

“Are you coming to bed?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, and stood, looking down at him. In the dim light from the bathroom, she could see that he was looking at her, watching her silently and waiting.

The t-shirt and shorts she’d thrown on earlier—what felt like days ago—had dried stiff and scratchy against her skin. Crossing her arms in front of her, she grasped the hem of the thin tee and pulled it up over her head. Her hair fell back down around her, spilling over her shoulders and down her back, but not long enough to cover her bare breasts. She didn’t miss Sam’s quick intake of breath, but she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t try to draw it out again or turn her disrobing into a striptease. She simply pushed her shorts down her legs and stepped out of them, and stood next to the bed in nothing but a simple pair of white lace panties.

Sam reached out for her and she stepped closer to him, let him grasp her waist in one strong hand and pull her even closer, until her knees were pressed against the mattress. His hand slid over the curve of her stomach, up towards her breasts as far as he could reach and then back down to finger the white lace at her waist. It was her turn to lose her breath when he hooked a finger in the waistband and pulled down, dragged the white material down her hips and thighs until they slid the rest of the way off and she could step out of them.

He took her hand in his, pulled it towards his mouth to press and soft kiss to her palm. She let herself be pulled down onto the bed, and she climbed over him carefully, mindful of his ribs, and pressed up close along his good side, skin to skin.

Her shoulder fit perfectly under his, his strong arm supporting her head and her cheek resting against his neck, and then he was pulling her closer, urging her face up so that he could kiss her, deep and slow. Her lips parted and his tongue tangled with hers in a soft, sweet glide, unhurried and exploratory, like they had the rest of time to just taste each other and feel the press of lips and teeth and tongue.

She wanted to be closer, slid on leg up over his until she could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against her thigh. Her hand caressed his chest, skin against skin, and she soothed his cuts again with cool fingertips. She was wet against him, and he moaned quietly against her mouth at the feel of her wet heat. Then he was pulling her again, breaking their kiss and urging her up until she was straddling his thighs and gazing down at him.

She grazed his bruised ribs gently as his calloused hands slid tenderly up her thighs. She never noticed their roughness before, and it was strange how familiar and _right_ his touch felt. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.

“You won’t,” he answered quietly, and he lifted her slightly, pulled her forward so she could sink down on his cock.

He was hard and huge inside her and she rode him slowly, taking him a little farther inside with each roll of her hips. His hands spanned her waist, steadied her and grounded her, and she let her hands fall to rest on his forearms. She could feel the power in the muscles under her hands and she squeezed down, soaking in that strength until she could feel Sam like a protective force around her. She’d never felt the need for a protector before, but in that moment she couldn’t imagine not having him.

She rocked against him, feeling the slow build of orgasm through her whole body. Beneath her, Sam’s breaths were growing harsher. She slowed her pace, wanting to make this last.

Sam pulled her down, held her tight to his chest and kissed her again. His hands slid down to cup her ass and he helped her move against him, the new angle lighting sparks inside her.

She pulled back up, hands on his chest now, and moved faster until she felt his cock throb and then he was coming, hot pulses inside her. She kept moving and her own orgasm burst over her a minute later and she shook and trembled on top of him until her muscles gave out.

She slid off and curled into him again. Sam held her close, pressed against his good side. His hand drew lazy patterns against her skin, and he kissed the top of her head as they both just breathed against each other.

Jess thought he’d fallen asleep, but after a while, he spoke. “There are things you don’t know about me,” he said, voice low and rumbling against her cheek.

She didn’t answer right away, didn’t tell him that she knew, didn’t tell him that it was alright, didn’t demand to know everything immediately. Finally, she just said, “Guess I’ll have to work on figuring you out, then. But tomorrow,” she added, and kissed his chest.

Finally, they slept.

  


***

  


 _The table was still occupied, but now the tall man played alone. Brady waited for him to take a shot, then grabbed the ball off the table just before it could sink into the pocket._

 _The young man’s head jerked up, brow furrowed and eyes stormy, but when he saw Brady idly playing with the orange ball his face broke into the best smile Jess had ever seen. They talked for a moment and Jess tried to reconcile laughing eyes and dimples with the hardened man she’d been watching before, and then Brady was turning to her and pulling her forward._

 _“Jessica Moore, meet Sam Winchester. Don’t ever play pool with this man.”_

 _Sam laughed and ducked his head, hair falling forward to hide his eyes. His voice was soft when he took her small hand in his much larger one. “Nice to meet you. Brady’s told me a lot about you.”_

 _It took a second to find her voice. “Really? He hasn’t mentioned you.”_

 _Sam just smiled again, and finally met her eyes. They were still holding hands. “Guess there’s not much to tell.”_

 _Brady jumped in. “That’s because I don’t know anything, man.” He turned back to Jess. “Known him a year and he hasn’t even told me where he’s from. Sam likes to play the man of mystery.”_

 _Sam hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She cocked her head to the side and studied his face, then gave him a small smile of her own as she plucked the pool cue from his hands. “Guess I’ll have to work on figuring you out, then,” she said. “Now, rack ‘em up, Shark.”_

 _Brady whooped a laugh and clapped Sam on the shoulder, told him he’d met his match, and then wandered back to the table where they’d left their drinks. Sam was looking at her like he was trying to figure something out. She let him think, then let him beat her soundly at pool, even though he was clearly trying to go easy on her._

 _At the end of the game, she wrote her number on a crumpled dollar bill and pressed it into his fist. Then she walked away, and wondered if she’d ever hear from Sam Winchester again._

 _She hoped so._

  


END

  



End file.
